Scorpio's Lot (63 page)

‘Well then ... what
the hell is that thing up there?’ slurred the first man.

‘Where? Oh that,
they’re called trees,’ said the second man.

‘No, they’re not...
they’re the contraptions the fireworks took off... from tonight.’ The woman was
unable to stand steady and view the hill amidst the descending fog.

‘I reckon
lighthouses,’ decided the first.

‘Still say they’re
trees,’ repeated the second.

The trio of drunks
pressed on, unable to agree on a conclusion.

Some forty minutes or
so later the distinctive noises of a garbage truck on its routine collection
heralded the first familiar sound of an awakening day. The approaching dawn was
about to release its display of low-level sunrays on an icy landscape. The
weather conditions indicated a favourable day would follow, once Jack Frost
thawed out and the skies had cleared.

Decreed by local government to
operate in pairs, the garbo duo of Nick and Tommo were collecting an excessive
amount of rubbish following the carnival’s discarded decorations and endless
trail of litterbugs. This particular morning was bitterly cold and made more
difficult with the inconvenience of their stop-start repetition. Red-raw
earlobes and chilblain fingers seemed to intensify with every progressive turn
into a further roadway. From the other side of the street a young boy on his
pushbike, complete with a paper horse, was delivering the morning news. With
vapoured breath and crimson face, he epitomised the very mood of daybreak.

The unmistakable sound of a
distant rooster announced that sunrise had arrived. With the crack of dawn the
first beams of light emphasised the density of fog that had gathered in Pedley.
A flock of robin redbreasts descended on a nature strip, oblivious to the
fast-approaching garbage truck. On this occasion the early bird didn’t catch
the worm, Nick thought. He reached for a bin and unintentionally scared them
away.

The cloud-drifts on this
particular morning were hovering in a somewhat shredded effect, with sudden
interrupted views making way to a clearing sky and then only to be obscured by
further passing mist. The pattern of fog breaks became repetitive as the sun
commenced its ascendance. Driving in an easterly direction, Tommo was intrigued
by this irregular phenomenon. Suddenly he noticed a row of objects perched high
on the nearby hill. It was only a fleeting glance, for the mist had now
obscured the view. Were his eyes playing tricks? Between operating the controls
and steering the truck, he waited patiently for the next clear sighting. His
patience was rewarded when again the mist commenced to separate, but the
intensity of the sun’s rays made it difficult to look due east. A further
glimpse of some darkened, blurred shape offered him no clue. The cloud once
again eclipsed the sighting. His curiosity was now aroused to the point where
he decided to stop the truck and take a closer look.

‘What are you doing?’ called Nick
from the footpath at this unexpected standstill.

‘Saw something strange perched on
top of that hill,’ responded Tommo, signaling in an easterly direction.

‘How can you see that far with
all this bloody mist?’

‘The fog will clear again, so
have some patience.’

As the two men stood beside their
truck and waited, Tommo was becoming a bit anxious in wanting his colleague to
share the sighting. Nick dismissed the matter, stating it was a waste of time
and that he wanted to get back to work. From around the corner, the
reappearance of the paperboy pedaling with determination drew their immediate
attention. The boy looked frightened and rode straight past, but he
acknowledged the two men by yelling out some confused reference about an
incident on the hill. He quickly disappeared from sight.

Frustrated with the ever-stubborn
fog and Nick’s persistence in returning to unload the endless trail of bins,
Tommo continued to persevere with the matter. He knew something was wrong. The
boy’s passing comment had emphasised that.

‘For Christ’s sake, can we get
back to work?’ Nick said.

Reluctantly Tommo replied. ‘All
right then -’ He stopped abruptly, hearing a woman’s scream in the distance. ‘There,
in that direction,’ he declared, facing east toward the hill.

Unexpectedly, as if viewing the
parting of the Red Sea, the mist momentarily cleared allowing the two men full
vision of the nearby hill. They stared in disbelief at what appeared to be
three unidentifiable people erected on vertical stacks. Positioned at the peak
of this near treeless hill, their sheer physical presence was very prominent
with the absence of timbered surround. To constantly gaze on this awesome
spectacle was a near impossible task, given the intensity of the sun’s rays
beaming from behind this trio of chastised corpses. From a distance of around
half a kilometre it was impossible to gain any worthwhile detail. The effect of
the light on the bodies was incandescent.

At precisely seven am the Pedley
Police Station received a phone call from a frantic young woman who had just
witnessed the hill incident on her daily morning jog. She described in a highly
emotional manner a bizarre sighting. Without hesitation the on-duty constable
telephoned his superiors.

~ * ~

The
persistent sound of the office doorbell prompted me to abandon my breakfast and
the morning newspaper. Grudgingly I unlocked and opened the front door to see
Hamish standing there with a concerned look. He had just returned from the
newsagent to buy the morning edition, he explained. There was a commotion
downtown and someone told him a crowd had gathered to view some human sacrifice
on a nearby hill. Neglecting the remainder of my breakfast, I immediately
jumped into Hamish’s car to accompany him to investigate this unsettling news.

Arriving at the street adjacent
to the foot of the hill, I was surprised by the numbers who had gathered. For
some, the anguish was clearly too much to bear and they had to turn away from
the grotesque sight. I was bewildered by this reaction until I stepped from the
car and saw with my own eyes the full impact of the scene on the hill. There
was no longer a fog to obscure the view, and I stared upward at three
motionless bodies erected on makeshift racks facing west over the township.
Unable to identify the people from the base of the hill, I decided on a short
but grueling ten-minute climb to reach the peak and take a closer look. Without
hesitation Hamish accompanied me, grunting and puffing as he attempted the
steep terrain. His big frame and clumsy style was a distinct handicap on the
slippery and thawing frost.

Reaching the hill’s summit I
immediately saw Forbes and his team in conference, their backs to us as they
discussed some significant aspect of the spectacle.

Before me, in all its shocking
reality, was the most barbaric sight I’d ever had the misfortune to witness.
Three men had been tied individually, each perched high on a timber trellis
secured to an upright pole. The bodies were spreadeagled and both hands and
feet were bound to each corner of their respective trellis. To emphasise their
humiliation, each man had been stripped of clothing from the waist up,
including socks and shoes. The central body was upside down, as if symbolising
a greater punishment, while his two companions on either side seem to levitate
in an upright position, with heads bowed due to the forces of gravity.

Death, it would appear, had not
come quickly enough; there were obvious signs of torture on their exposed
torsos and feet. Torn flesh on the sides of each body and the shoulder regions
had all the hallmarks of a harsh flogging. To help secure the corpses on each
trellis, nails had been inserted through the ankles and feet.

I was beginning to feel
lightheaded at the sight of the deplorable display of gross cruelty inflicted
on these unfortunate souls. The sight of all this suffering reminded me of
Jesus Christ’s, condemned to crucifixion by Pilate and left to hang on the
cross until pronounced dead. Whilst these present-day victims would not lay
claim to any forthcoming resurrection, the similarities, nonetheless, were
shocking. Although unable to recognise the three, the one turned upside down
did look familiar.

I noticed an unusual marking. I
could just make out that branded on the chest of each man was an emblem of some
description that warranted closer inspection. Stepping forward, I puzzled over
what the picture could be. The symbol was identical on all three men. Could it
be a crab or perhaps a serpent? Four steps closer and the obscure marking began
to materialise. It was a scorpion, the constellation sign of Scorpio, or in the
context of things with recent events in mind, the Scorpio syndicate’s calling
card. My concentration was suddenly interrupted by the distinctive voice of
Alan Forbes.

‘That’s far enough. You’re about
to enter a restricted area. My god, news travels fast, Mr Harrison.’

‘Yes, it does. What do you make
of this tragedy, detective?’

‘My guess would be underworld
retaliation and the resultant punishment of an informant.’

‘But this is the work of a sick
mind!’

‘I don’t disagree.’ Forbes asked,
‘And who’s your friend?’

‘Detective Alan Forbes, meet
Hamish O’Connor.’

‘Pleased to make your acquaintance,’
Forbes said. ‘I had hoped to catch up with you shortly, Mr O’Connor.’

‘Regarding what?’ enquired
Hamish.

‘The incident at your farm, of
course. We’ll discuss the matter tomorrow morning at the station. Say around
ten?’

‘Okay.’

‘Now I must ask you both to
leave. This is a crime scene and ...’

Forbes was interrupted by a
person of Middle Eastern appearance. His sudden presence caught everybody
off-guard. In a highly emotional state, the young man began to scream at the
horrifying sight. It was Paul Marsh who came to his assistance with the
intention of calming the lad down.

‘What’s going on?’ called Forbes,
whose string of surprises for the day had already surpassed its quota.

‘His name is Hassan offered
Marsh, continuing to comfort the grief-stricken lad.

But Forbes cut his subordinate
short. He could no longer tolerate the presence of us meddling bystanders.

‘Would you all leave now, as we’re
about to tape off this immediate area,’ he yelled, and then muttered, ‘Bloody
inquisitive public will only hinder proceedings.’

~ * ~

Following
the departure of Tom Harrison and some distant spectators, Forbes recommenced
his preliminaries prior to the arrival of forensics. He again chose to study
the three corpses, but this time with meticulous detail and in the company of
his team, who would be expected to serve his every whim. Forbes stared in deep
thought, appalled by this gross display of human suffering. He contemplated the
psychological punishment leading up to the eventual execution. He could only
conclude it had been a particularly painful and gruesome torture, and then to
exhibit their triumphant victory ... It had to be the work of some deranged
psychopath. The implicit warning to stop messing with Scorpio was blatantly
clear, but to go to this extreme was incomprehensible to Forbes.

Observing the torn flesh on all
three bodies, Gallagher turned to his superior for an opinion on what could
possibly have caused such a harsh punishment to the skin.

‘It’s an ancient device called
the cat o’ nine tails,’ Forbes said. ‘Our likely suspect - Brad Morgan - has a
history of using this weapon in Europe. Traditionally this form of torture has
nine thongs as a result of the manner in which the rope is braided. The
combination of both thin and thick rope makes it a formidable flogging device,
as you can see. Such is the intensity of its delivery. The cat whip fell into
disuse around the year 1880.’

They turned their attention to a
view of the bodies from behind. The word ‘RAT’ had been inscribed in blood on
the back of the middle corpse. The introverted Ferret was indeed a mess and
possibly had fallen victim to the most violent punishment of the three. It was
quite understandable why Hassan had been so frightened. On the backs of the
bodies on either side, the words ‘TRAFFIK FIX’ had again been written in blood.